Part 9

“I think his song about the beautiful green woods was finer,” sighed a poor boy who listened outside, but then no one took any notice of such a silly observation.

When Lanis had done singing, he came out of the hall, and found the man who had tempted him with wealth sitting before a table heaped high with gold.

“Is all that mine?” asked Lanis in a breathless tone.

“All that yours!” echoed the man in an indignant voice; “no, indeed—it’s my money—here is your share,” and he pushed two pieces of gold towards Lanis out of the great heap.

“But I earned it,” said Lanis indignantly; “I earned it with my voice.”

“And did I do nothing?” cried the man angrily. “Do you think I can give my time and services to you for nothing? I should think not. If I hadn’t put you into this hall to sing, and charged for people to hear you, why, you would have been singing for nothing in the streets, instead of getting two gold pieces.”

“But you have a hundred gold pieces.”

“Of course—that’s my share.”

“I did half the work, and I ought to have half the money.”

“Not at all,” replied the man, putting the gold in his pocket; “if you wanted half you should have said so before you sang.”

“But I trusted you,” cried Lanis.

“More fool you,” retorted the man carelessly; “but I saw you were a fool when you sang.”

“You are doing a wicked thing.”

“It’s only business,” shrieked the man; “you ought to be pleased at my giving a beggarly poet like you anything, instead of trying to steal the money I’ve worked for so hard.”

Then the man ran about the city telling all the people that he had done a great kindness to Lanis, and been shamefully treated for doing so. All the citizens, who quite agreed with the man’s way of doing business, fell upon Lanis, and, driving him out of the city, shut their gates against him.

In this way, therefore, did Lanis gain his first experience of the world’s unkindness when there is any question between right and might. Picking up his lyre, he walked on, leaving the city wherein he had been so cruelly deceived far behind him, and as he went he sang sadly:

“In the school of life Is the lesson taught, That with harshest strife Is our knowledge bought.

We are bought and sold In our joy and grief; I have lost my gold, I have lost belief.

Ah, by cruel Fate We are onward led; I have learned to hate, And my faith is dead.”

Lanis certainly should not have sung so bitterly when such a beautiful world bloomed around him; after all, being deceived by one man does not mean that every one else is as cruel; but then Lanis was very sensitive, and the unjust way in which he had been treated made him very sad, so that all his songs now spoke but of the sorrows of life and the sadness of despair.

As he wandered on for many months in this dismal mood, he met with many adventures, but, alas! nothing which could give him back his former childlike belief in human kindness, and he was very anxious to get to the Kingdom of Shadows and find once more his lost happiness.

Once he came to a great city which was the capital of a very rich kingdom, and here found the citizens in a state of great dismay, for their King, whom every one loved, had gone out of his mind. No one could cure him of his madness, so it had been proclaimed that whomsoever should do so would become the husband of the lovely Princess Iris, who was the King’s daughter. Lanis saw the Princess, and she was so beautiful that he at once fell deeply in love with her, and, forgetting all his former experience of ingratitude, he thought that if he cured her father, she would grow to love him, and he would thus discover his happiness without looking any more for the Kingdom of Shadows.

With this idea he went to the royal palace of the King, and there told the Lord High Chamberlain that he would cure the mad monarch by the power of song. The Lord High Chamberlain did not believe much in what Lanis said, still he was anxious that every means should be tried to cure the King, so let Lanis go into the dark room where he was sitting.

The King was a noble-looking old man, who looked very sad and sorrowful, but Lanis saw at once that he was not really mad, but sad and despondent, owing to the treachery and unkindness he had found upon every hand. His dearest friends had betrayed him, his subjects were rebellious, and the poor King so despaired of ever making his people wise and noble that he had thus fallen into this deeply sorrowful state which the Lord High Chamberlain mistook for madness.

Lanis ordered the curtains of the great window to be drawn aside, and, when the bright sunlight streamed in through the painted glass, he sat down in the centre of all the gorgeous colours, and, taking his lyre, began to sing of noble deeds in order to rouse the despairing King from his lethargy:

“The world is fair With beauty rare, Then why despair, Oh monarch great? He is not wise Who never tries Sublime to rise O’er adverse Fate.

The summer flowers Re-bloom in bowers, Tho’ winter’s hours May kill with frost. Beneath the sun As quick years run; All thou hast done Is never lost.”

The King lifted up his head as he heard these comforting words, and looked at the noble face of the minstrel, for the silvery song bade him not despair, although no good appeared to come of all his work; and Lanis, seeing a ray of hope beam in the King’s eyes, went on singing joyfully:

“Put on thy crown, And boldly frown Thy sadness down, Tho’ keen the smart.

Thy burden take Of office great, And rule the State With dauntless heart.

A coward he Who thus would flee Despairingly, In time of need. Tho’ evils lurk In darkness murk, Resume thy work— Thou wilt succeed.”

Then the King, whose face now was shining with hope and strong resolve, put on his royal crown, took his golden sceptre in his hand, and went forth to take his seat upon the throne to do justice to his subjects.

“Thou art a wise youth,” said he to Lanis, “and thy words are noble. It is foolish to desert one’s post when there is work to be done, and I will not forget thy rebuke. Now, thou wilt stay with me and marry my daughter.”

Lanis was only too glad to do so, for he now loved the Princess with all his might, but, seeing her leave the great feast which the King had given in honour of his recovery, he followed her secretly, and found her weeping.

“Why do you weep, beautiful Princess?” he asked.

“Because I have to marry you,” said Iris sadly, “and I love another.”

Lanis felt a pang at his heart as she said this, and on turning round saw a handsome young man holding the beautiful Princess in his arms.

“Do you love one another?” asked Lanis, with tears in his eyes.

“Yes; it would be death for us to part,” they both replied.

Then Lanis saw that once more he had failed to find happiness, but still it was in his power to bestow it upon others, so he took the Princess and her lover to the old King, and obtained his consent to their marriage. The lovers thanked him heartily, and after Lanis saw them married, he once more started away to wander through the world. The King offered him gold and jewels to stay, but Lanis refused.

“Gold and jewels are good things,” he said sadly; “but happiness is better, therefore I go to find it.”

“And where will you find it?” asked the King.

“In the Kingdom of Shadows,” answered Lanis, and he departed, singing his sorrow-song:

“Ah me, what treasure To taste the pleasure Of love’s caress. Oh, idle lover, Wilt thou discover Heart’s happiness.

Nay! folly this is; I gain no kisses From sweet Princess. Of him she’s fonder, So forth I wander In sad distress.”

It would take a long time to tell how many adventures Lanis met with in his wanderings through the world. The years rolled by, and he travelled onward, never pausing, always hoping to find happiness, but, alas! no one could tell him where to look for the Kingdom of Shadows, and he seemed farther off his object than when he set forth. He freed many princesses from the durance of cruel magicians, but though they all thanked him for his kindness, they loved some one else, and he found no one in the world who cared at all about him. He was honoured far and wide for his gift of song, and did much good in all lands, but no one loved him for himself, and although he was the cause of happiness to others, he never felt happiness in his own heart.

At last, after many years of weary travel, when he had grown a white-haired old man, with bent form and sad heart, he found himself on the shore of a great sea, beyond which he knew lay the most wonderful countries. A boat was rocking on the waves near the shore, so Lanis determined to sail over this mysterious ocean, and thought that perhaps far away in the darkness he might find the Kingdom of Shadows, for which he had sought so long and ardently. He knew that if he once sailed over this ocean, he would never be able to return to earth again, so he sang a last farewell to the beautiful world wherein he had done so much good, and then stepped into the boat.

It was a fairy boat, and moved rapidly onward over the waves without sails or oars. The mists gathered thickly round him and hid the green shore from his view, so sitting in the boat he saw nothing but the grey sky above, the grey mists around, and beneath him the cruel black waters. He was not afraid, however, for he knew he had done no harm, and, seizing his harp, sang his last sorrow-song:

“Grey mist around me, Grey sky above me; Sorrow hath crowned me— No one will love me.

Brave spirit, quail not; All will be bright yet. At thy fate rail not; God will make right yet.

Still do thy duty, Tho’ all deceive thee, Splendour and beauty Now will receive thee.”

As he sang the last words, the strings of his lyre snapped with a loud crash, and, leaping out of his nerveless hands, it fell into the grey waves of the sea. Lanis did not grieve, for he now knew he was done with his sorrow-singing for evermore, and as the boat sailed onward he saw a red glow to the left.

“That is the gate of iron,” he whispered to himself, “it leads to the Kingdom of Fire. Ah! I would never find any happiness there.”

The waves were foaming angrily round the little boat, and the red glare from the open portals of the iron gate looked like an angry sunset, but still Lanis felt no fear. After a time the red glare died away, and now on every side of him was a soft golden light, while the waves beneath the boat were of a delicate blue, and the sky above of the same soft tint. Lanis looked around, and saw a soft green shore, to which his boat drifted gently, and he sprang out on to the yellow sand of the beach. As he did so, his travel-worn clothes fell off him, and he found himself arrayed in a long white robe.

A tall man, also in a white robe, approached, and, smiling gently on Lanis, gave him a golden harp.

“Is this my old harp?” asked Lanis, taking it.

“No; it is better than the old harp.”

“Is it for sorrow-singing?”

“Nay; it is for songs of joy.”

“And is this Faeryland?”

“Nay; it is a nobler place than Faeryland.”

“Is it The Kingdom of Shadows?”

“So we called it on earth, but now we know it as the Kingdom of Eternal Light.”

Lanis looked at the tall man as he said this, and saw it was the old king he had helped—now no longer old and frail, but in the prime of life.

“You are the King!” he cried gladly.

“Yes, I was the King. You pointed out my duty to me, and I did it; otherwise I never would have reached here.”

“And the Princess?”

“Is quite happy,” replied the King. “She rules my realm with her husband, and both are wise.”

“Have you found happiness?” asked Lanis.

“Yes!—and so will you, when you strike your harp,” answered the King.

Lanis struck the golden strings of his harp, and immediately all his weariness and sorrow passed away, and he felt glad and joyful. At the sound of the music, he changed from an old man into a noble-looking youth—the same Lanis who had sung to the King.

“Ah, I have indeed found happiness,” he cried; “but still, I feel I want something more.”

“I know what you want,” said the King. “Look!”

And Lanis, looking up, saw his mother, with a calm expression of joy upon her face, coming towards him, with outstretched arms. All the white-robed spirits around struck their golden harps and sang the most beautiful songs that were ever heard, while mother and son embraced, and far off the palace of the great King shone like a bright star.

Lanis also struck his harp, and, with the earthly monarch and his mother, went singing onward through the lovely fields, to kneel before the King, who had thus drawn him onward, through sorrow and sadness, to find his happiness at length in the land which we mortals call the Kingdom of Shadows but which wise men know as the Kingdom of Eternal Light.

THE GOLDEN GOBLIN

I.

RING MAGIC.

KELCH was a handsome young man who lived in a little village which was near a great black forest, and he thought himself the most miserable being in the world. It was very curious that he should do so, for he was young, good-looking, and healthy, but he did not value any of these gifts, because he was in love with Filina, the prettiest girl in the whole country, and her father wanted her to marry a very rich man called Hocky, for whom she did not in the least care.

Now Filina was also in love with Kelch, and hated the idea of marrying ugly old Hocky, but, as he was rich and Kelch poor, her father would not let her wed as she wished. Kelch had a little cottage near the wood, which had been left to him by his mother, and earned his livelihood by cutting firewood, which, to be sure, was not a very aristocratic occupation. Still, in those days people did not care much for rank, and pretty Filina loved Kelch tenderly in spite of his humble calling. She nearly wept her eyes out when her father said she was to become the bride of Hocky. He was an avaricious old dwarf who only cared for gold, and wanted to marry Filina, not for her beauty, but because he knew she would some day be left money when her father died. When Kelch heard of the proposed marriage, he went to Filina’s father and told of his love, but the cruel parent laughed at his request.

“You marry my daughter!” he said mockingly. “What an idea!—you can give her no money.”

“But I can give her love,” said Kelch sturdily, “and that is much better than money.”

“I don’t think so,” retorted Filina’s father. “Any one can make love, but few can make money, so go back to your wood-cutting, and don’t come to me with such silly requests.”

“Is there no chance for me?” cried Kelch in despair.

“Yes—one,” answered the old man mockingly. “Become as rich as Hocky, and you shall marry my daughter.”

Poor Kelch went away with tears in his eyes, because old Hocky was known to be very wealthy, and how could an unknown youth hope to become rich when he had no one to help him? It was no good feeling sad, however, for sorrow would not help him to win Filina, so Kelch determined to go to the castle of the Wicked Baron who lived in the centre of the forest, and ask him to make him a present of some gold.

The Wicked Baron was a famous miser, and his castle was said to be full of gold, so, in spite of his bad character, Kelch thought he would not refuse to give him a little out of his plenty. So early one morning, after saying good-bye to Filina, he went into the forest to search for the Wicked Baron’s castle, and ask its owner to give him some gold.

Kelch wandered deeper and deeper into the forest, which became wilder and more savage as he advanced, but still he did not come across the looked-for castle. Night was coming on, and the wood was full of sombre shadows, while behind the trees flushed the fierce red light of the setting sun. It was a faery forest, and all the ground was covered with soft grass, and strange flowers which only bloomed at night-time; while overhead the nightingales sang most deliciously in the trees, and at intervals the wise owls hooted in the most unexpected manner.

As it was now quite dark, Kelch thought he would sleep under a great oak tree until the morning, and then once more set out upon his travels; so he ate some food he had brought with him, drank from a stream which sparkled by, and after saying his prayers,—for he was a good lad,—rested his head upon his knapsack and went fast asleep.

In the middle of the night, however, he woke suddenly under the influence of enchantment, for the whole of the forest was flooded with the silver moonlight, and on every side the faeries were holding their revels. Having drank of the waters of the brook, Kelch had come under the charm of faery power, and, to his surprise, was able to understand the talk of two elves who sat chattering to one another on the broad white cup of a lily.

“Who is this youth lying asleep?” asked the first elf, never thinking for a moment Kelch was awake, and only kept his eyes closed in order to hear what they had to say.

“He is called Kelch,” said the other elf, “and loves Filina, who is to marry old Hocky. He is now searching for the castle of the Wicked Baron, to ask for gold.”

“He’ll never find it,” observed the first faery, “unless he asks the Owl who lives in the oak tree under which he sleeps.”

“Then I will ask the Owl,” cried Kelch, sitting up, whereupon both faeries flew away in great alarm, much to his regret, as he wanted to make inquiries about the Owl.

He looked up at the tree, but could see nothing save the branches interlaced against the clear sky, and now and then a gleam of moonlight on the rough bark of the trunk. As Kelch had often heard that song was the only way to invoke faeries, he thought he would try the same means with the owl. So, springing to his feet, he began to sing, making up the words as he went along:

“Fairy Owl, Clever fowl, Please tell me Where to see The castle old, Where Baron bold Hoards up his gold.”

The words were not very good, but they told exactly what he wanted to know, and the Owl put her head out of a hole in the tree with a wild hoot, her eyes glowing red like burning coals.

“Go away, boy,” croaked the Owl angrily, “and do not disturb me in my grief. The Baron is dead, and I am in mourning for him.”

“The Baron dead!” cried Kelch in dismay. “Oh dear! then I won’t be able to get any gold. I don’t know, though—he can’t have taken his gold with him, so it must be there still. Owl!—Owl!—where’s the castle?”

The Owl hooted crossly, and then replied:

“Follow the brook To open ground, Then upward look, And all around. Jump water cold, Then you will see The castle old Frown o’er the lea.”

The Owl drew back her head into the hole, and Kelch, taking her advice, followed the windings of the brook through the forest. There never was such a winding brook; first it twisted one way, then another, curled round trees, hid under rocks, fell down precipices in sheets of foam, and even flowed up a gentle incline. At last it began to grow straighter, and finally led Kelch into a wide open glade girdled with trees, but flowed directly in front of him, so that, in order to reach the glade, he would have to cross it.

“I don’t see any castle,” said Kelch to himself; “but then the Owl said, ‘Jump water cold,’ so if I cross this brook, which evidently renders the castle invisible, I will see it.”

As soon as he made up his mind to do this, he jumped over, and, on landing safely on the opposite bank, saw before him a great castle, with many towers all overgrown with ivy. So Kelch was right, the brook rendered the castle invisible, and unless he had jumped across it he would have seen nothing.

Kelch saw no lights in the castle, but, being a brave lad, he did not mind that, so marched boldly forward, climbed up a broken-down flight of steps leading to the front door, and, finding it open, entered. It was all dark inside, but Kelch had a bit of candle in his pocket, and, having lighted it, he set out to explore the castle, which was evidently quite deserted.

He wandered through room after room, all of which were quite empty, and inhabited by nothing but spiders, there not even being a rat. The moonlight streamed into the lonely halls through the painted glass of the windows, and filled them with strange shadows, but Kelch, knowing that he had done no one harm, was not afraid, and began singing to keep up his spirits:

“Thro’ lonely halls, Wander, wander; The moonlight falls Yonder, yonder; Tho’ dark appals, Ponder, ponder.

Sad thoughts arise, Weary, weary; The night-wind sighs, Dreary, dreary; I hear strange cries, Eerie, eerie.”

And indeed he did hear strange cries, sometimes like the roaring of wild beasts, then shrill sounds like the piping of winds upon sandy beaches, sometimes a cry of pain, and at time as burst of wild laughter. In order to protect himself, he drew his hunting-knife from his girdle, and went in the direction from whence the noises proceeded. When he did this, he found himself descending the stairs, and thought he must now be going to the cellars where the Wicked Baron kept his gold. The noises grew louder and louder as he descended, and at last all dwindled down to one harsh voice, which was singing this song:

“The Goblin Golden Here you will find; From ages olden I’ve ruled mankind.

Another victim I now will bind; When I have tricked him He’ll sorrow find.”